She forced a smile. “No, I’m not married. I never found the right suit—” She broke off and coughed, barely catching herself in time. Women nowadays didn’t call their prospective husbands suitors. “Uh, suitable guy.”
Well, she’d found him, but he’d been already married and in love with his wife.
He rubbed his jaw and let out a breath. This, combined with his hooded eyes examining her, proved to be a deadly combination. Her breathing quickened, as did something deep inside her stomach.
Odd.
“I find that hard to believe.” He swallowed hard. “You’re quite beautiful.”
She averted her eyes. “I assure you, I am not sought-after.”
He picked up another strand of hair. His attention was on her face, and she wondered if he even realized what he was doing with his hands. “I can’t imagine you don’t have any suitors. A man would be a fool not to knock on your door.”
“You’ve never called on me. Does that make you a fool?” She stepped a bit closer, and his nostrils flared. Trembling at her brazenness, she wondered where it had come from. She had never crossed the line between appropriate and inappropriate. No one ever attempted to seduce her or even steal a kiss.
Yet, she flirted with Thomas as if she were a connoisseur of men.
He held her waist, his thumbs brushing small circles on her hips. “Indeed, guilty as charged.”
She batted her lashes. All those hours of watching debutantes flirt finally paid off. “Well, we’re here now. And you’ve got me all to yourself.”
She curled the soft fabric of his shirt in her fists, leaning into him. He clenched his jaw and pulled her closer, so close their toes touched. He grabbed her chin, holding her still. Her heart sped up, and she fought the urge to flee from his scrutiny. Why was he looking at her as if he knew her?
His brow wrinkled, he frowned. “You remind me of someone. I can’t quite figure out whom…?”
She stumbled backward, dread filling her heart. Turning her back on him, she hugged herself and tried to come up with a way to continue her farce. If he gawked at her much longer, he might manage to recollect her face.
That wouldn’t do at all.
Thomas walked up behind Eleanor, trying to read the tense line of her shoulders. Madame Eve’s missive had told him women of this day and age were bolder. More willing to hop from bed to bed with one man after another. He had a hard time placing this woman in that category, though. Hell’s bells, she acted more nervous than him.
She held herself as, and spoke like, a true lady. Of course, one needed to ignore the scandalous clothing she wore. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn to having seen her at a ball or two. But she’d never fit in his world. Women in his day didn’t walk around with naked ankles…let alone knees.
Nor did they bare their breasts quite so much—or maybe they did. But somehow, paired with the short skirt, her shirt seemed more inappropriate to him. More tempting.
Speaking of which—they peeked over the top of her daring ensemble, and his palms itched to touch her. If he had to wait much longer, she’d wonder what in the world he’d hidden in his pockets. The only way he’d been able to control his desires so far was by shoving his hands into the far too small pockets of his ridiculous trousers.
He closed the distance between them and touched her shoulders. Her soft blonde curls teased his skin, and he wondered what she looked like with her hair in an elaborate coiffure.
When she stiffened, he hesitated. “Is something wrong? Would you like me to leave?”
She peeked at him over her shoulder. “No, I don’t wish you to leave.”
His cock hardened against the uncomfortable zipper, and he stepped closer to whisper into her ear. “Would you like to go into the bedroom?”
He played with her earlobe and the loose strand of hair hanging over it, while she quaked in his arms. He placed a light kiss on her temple, resisting the urge to press his erection against her soft arse.
Having been without sex since Suzanne died, he hadn’t expected to want Eleanor as much as he did. She’d barely said a word or two to him, but he ached to drive himself inside her until he could go no farther and sate himself with her luscious body.
Eleanor spun to face him, lower lip caught in her teeth. As she stepped close to his chest, she tilted her chin and looked up at him. His fingers traced the soft curve of her hip of their own accord, and he groaned at the lust shooting through his veins.
“Are you certain you’re ready for this, Thomas? You seem to be in love with your wife, still.”
Images of Suzanne played across his mind—of them laughing in their gardens, of her face as he plunged inside her. Why did Eleanor have to mention her? Did she know how torturous it was to picture his dead wife in the same line of thought as the woman he now sought to crawl into bed with?
Could he follow through with his rash decision to make love to someone besides her?
Could he afford not to?